Unexpected Findings
by a.l.russo
Summary: When Olivia is cleaning out her mother's stuff from her closet with Elliot, she finds a journal of her mother's life. Opening it, she reads of her mother's life. Even as Olivia entered it. But what if it wasn't as it seemed? R&R! E/O at the end eventually
1. 1: Box Cutters

Unexpected Findings

A story by e-oshippa47

_**A/N: This whole story happened because my dad and I were talking about how cool it would be to be a writer on Law & Order—the one who writes the plot of the story in novel form. So I was talking to him, telling him what I would do, and how I would write an episode. As I was speaking, I was talking about Olivia's mother, and how Olivia was conceived. I am going to write this in many persons; 3**__**rd**__** person in the beginning, may possibly become 1**__**st**__** person later on. Basically, this whole story is mainly this question: What actually happened to Serena, and why did she do the things she did to poor, innocent, Olivia? I'm going to post the first chapter, to see if you guys like it. R&R and enjoy, like you good people always do. **_

1—Box Cutters

"Are you sure you want to do this, Liv? It tends to get emotional." Elliot spoke, reaching in the back of her closet and pushing the boxes to the edge of the top shelf with the tips of his fingertips.

"Yep, I'm sure. I've got to do this sooner or later; it's two years to the day she died. Might as well. Toss me the box cutter?" She stood over a pile of boxes with her hands on her hips, and stared blankly at the cardboard masses that had masking tape wrapped around them, as if to make sure nothing or no one got into them without really trying.

Elliot fished his hand in his jean pocket and grabbed the three-inch object. Closing the blade down all the way, he tossed it underhand, and gracefully, Olivia caught it. He watched her silently as she skillfully and naturally pushed the lock down and the slider up, and shoved the blade into the top of the box. "'Serena's Crap.' Wow. That's original." Olivia remarked, a slight smirk on her face at the sound of the title and her mother's name. She blew the dust off of the top of the box, and began attacking the box with the cutters.

Elliot remained silent, for he knew better than to say something. Walking over to her side, he peeked over her shoulder; he hadn't seen a box like this yet. He gazed from a standing point of view, his head unintentionally angled as he watched the veins in her muscles flash as she ripped open the wings of the box.

"Whoa," they both said to themselves quietly as the contents of the box filled their sight. Crouching down opposite of her, he saw Olivia's eyes flicker as she registered each and every item that the box filled. "El, look at this." She pulled out certain items, remarking, "High school year book, photo album, CD's…" she let her voice trail off and surround the empty air in tension as she slowly pulled out a small, 3x3 leather bound book. "…journal." She twisted her hand to see the cover of the little journal. Scrunching her eyebrows together, she showed Elliot the front of it. "Blank." She spoke out of surprise, and a small portion of confusion.

"That's weird," was all Elliot could think of saying. Walking over and sitting down next to Olivia, Elliot thought silently to himself. He was debating on whether or not he should ask her the question that may just possibly change her life for the better. _Or a turn for the worst. Be careful, you don't know what's in there._ He thought to himself. But before he could control himself, the words slipped out of his mouth and into her ears as he asked cautiously, "Are you going to open it?"

Olivia began to chew on her bottom lip; this was her 'tell' on her having mixed feelings when deciding something that was a really big deal. "I… I don't know." Olivia finally said, slowly. She said it in a way where it wasn't a polite rejection, but more of an open thought, letting the possibilities flow to her brain and the possibilities that she may miss out on. She looked at Elliot for a moment, and then back down to the journal—it _was_ very tempting. _C'mon, what have you got to lose? You're mother was horrible to you; this is your decadent way of getting revenge by reading something she wouldn't want you to._ One side of her brain nudged.

_But it could also mean that she didn't want me to read it for a reason, and that it was wrapped up this way because what is in it is something no one else should see. What if the night I was conceived is in this? _The other side of her brain argued.

_Well then you'll just have to wait and see. Now or never Olivia. _And that was the end of her inward conversations. Even when she tried to find her so-called angle and devil, they were gone, away and back in the corners of her mind until needed for bigger reasons. "I do want to, though." Olivia admitted, muttering it.

Elliot played with his thumbs as he looked at Olivia. She was trying so desperately to advert her dark, hazel eyes away from the black object that was in her hands, but she couldn't control the fact that they kept darting downward to the front of it. After a long pause and burning desires and questions running through their minds, Olivia finally sighed. "Let's just get these boxes emptied first." She looked up to Elliot, praying silently that he wouldn't reject.

Elliot was dying to know what was written inside Olivia's mother's journal. He mainly wanted to know why she hurt Olivia the way she did; the excuse was that her mother was traumatized by the rape and Olivia was the constant reminder that it had happened to her. But deep down, Elliot thought the whole thing was bullshit. Rape or not, no one should be treated the way Olivia was. But yet, he shrugged and smiled at Olivia as he replied, "It's up to you, Liv." He was genuinely happy to be with Olivia, even if it was bitter-sweet time spent.

Olivia smiled, and threw the journal onto her forest green couch. "Let's get this over with." She said, a certain lightness portrayed in her tone.

They spent the next hour laughing and removing boxes from Olivia's closet, each telling stories of their youth (and in Olivia's case, the little, happier moments) and how stupid they were at times. In the end, they had successfully dug up clothes from the '70's and '80's, classic books from Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Emily Dickens, and so on, and letters that her mom had written, but never got around to sending.

Olivia and Elliot sat five feet away opposite from each other, both of them trying to regain their breath by laughing so hard. When they could both breathe normally, they stayed silent for a moment, and Elliot watched as Olivia's eyes went immediately to the journal resting silently and almost mockingly on the sofa. She then looked back to Elliot, who was watching her and waiting for her silent—or verbal—answer on what she would do next. Instead, she asked, "Are there any boxes left?"

Elliot's eyes drew up to the empty closet. "None." He then scooched over next to Olivia, who was sitting cross-legged with the journal locked in her hands. Elliot let his eyes fall onto the journal, and then back to Olivia's. "You still want to do this? Like I said before, it tends to get emotional." He felt his stomach churn; he himself was afraid of the contents that lay in her mother's journal.

Olivia nodded, briskly. "Just promise to be with me when I read this thing, okay?"

Elliot smiled, and said, "Promise."

They both looked back down at the journal, and Olivia slowly and delicately began to open it. It's spine cracked from the many years of someone not using it. Before they let themselves read the first page of the book, Elliot and Olivia locked eyes, both telling each other that this may change their views and lives forever. They then let their eyes fall downward onto the old paper as Olivia read her mother's life aloud.


	2. 2: And So it Begins

_**A/N: This is the journal entry that Serena wrote in. I made it that Olivia was born in 1966, so I put it two years before she was concieved. Olivia is reading this out loud, which is why there are quotations before each paragraph. Enjoy!**_

2—And So It Begins

"_December 24__th__, 1964_

"_Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow" were the only words I heard as I walked down the street and pass the shops. It's annoying how everything is so jolly and happy around Christmas time—yes, it's a comfort to know that this is the only time of year that people will actually be remotely considerate and help you up when they push you down unintentionally—but it almost seems fraud at the end of it all. At this point I'm just sick of it all._

"_I passed a shop where the clothes were on display in such a fashion where it made me instantly want to buy it. Being the girl I was, I walked into the store, casually, with my hands in my long jacket and wrapping my fingers around my house keys. A bell jingled when I walked in—another Christmas annoyance. _

"_I saw a man standing behind the counter of the store. He was tall, tan, had Paul Newman-blue eyes and short brown hair. His physique was also a nice touch; he was very in shape. There was one thing that was odd, though: he was staring straight ahead, as if on cue. Ignoring it, I smiled coyly, and said, "Hello." _

"_He flashed a quick short smile, (still keeping his eyes from me) but it then fell and he continued to stare straight ahead of him. I was expecting a "How are you?" or "Can I help you with anything?" but nothing came of it. I opened my mouth to say something, but instead, he began banging his knuckles lightly against the counter he stood behind._

"_I stopped in place, and listened carefully. After a moment of blind listening, I finally deciphered that he was giving Morse Code: Call police. Phone in back. _

"_My heart froze as I realized that I had just walked right into a burglary. But I followed his instructions, and somehow managed to control the wavering of my voice as I said mock-casually, "I'm just going to check out the sales," _

"_As soon as my back was turned, I heard the loading of a pistol. "I know Morse, too," the gruff voice said, "And I can't let you do that. Turn around."_

"_I did as I was told, and saw a man with a pistol aimed at my face. The man behind the counter was slowly going around it, to stand in front of it. I wasn't sure why he did this, all I was concerned about was if I was going to come out of this store on my feet or in a body bag._

""_You don't have to do this," I said slowly, and raised my hands defensively. "It doesn't have to be this way."_

"_The man smiled, deviously. "It does. It's the busiest night of the year—why not?" As he spoke, I took in features of his face: short, blonde, hair, over-bulging jaw lines, perfect teeth, and two different colored eyes—one blue, one green. _

"_I tried to think of reasons why not to rob a clothing shop on Christmas Eve—obvious reasons that were usually so clear and so common-sense-like were now failing to come to my mind, and "I began to gape at the man in pure fear. Finally, I said, "Because you could hurt innocent people. No one is going to hurt you," I began to feel myself breathing quicker because of my fear and quickly added, "Can't you just put that away?" _

"_The man smiled, and I then knew that this wasn't a burglary—it was a killing spree. "Why?" And he pulled the trigger._

"_The twenty, short, years of my life flashed in front of my tightly-shut eyes, and my body braced itself for immense pain that was about to inflict it. I finally heard a grunt and a shout of pain, but it was a split-second after that I found that it wasn't my own. Opening my eyes, I saw that it was the man at the counter, and I realized that he had jumped in front of me to spare my life but sacrifice his own. I felt tears flood to my eyes, and I looked up at the man who shot him. He looked down at the carcass and then to me, loaded his pistol, and shot himself. With shaking hands I ran to the phone and called the police._

"_Spinning the numbers on the phone, I listened to the dial tone, each ring getting longer and longer. After three, time-consuming rings, I heard a woman. "Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" She sounded very alert and ready for anything._

"_With a wavering voice I said, "A shooting just occurred in," I looked at the front of the store for a name, "Dolly's Apparel on 54__th__ St. The shooter shot himself, and the cashier, but I think the cashier is still alive." I went to feel his pulse on his wrist—it was there, but it was quickly fading. I clutched onto his hand as I continued to talk to the woman on the other end of the conversation._

""_Are you hurt ma'am?" The woman asked without any hesitation._

""_No, I'm fine. Please, come quickly."_

""_We're on our way, ma'am. Please stay on the line with me until they arrive."_

"_I did as I was told, not saying a word, for I was too shaken up by the notion that I had just been in a shooting. After what seemed like hours, I finally saw the flashing lights of the police cars and ambulances. Once they came, I hung up the phone and whispered to the cashier, "Help is here," and squeezed his hand. I ran outside of the clothing store— it was probably a stupid thing, but I needed some sort of anchor than a dying young man._

""_Please, in here!" I directed them all, and they all pushed me aside to enter the store, loaded pistols in their hands and metal strapped onto their chests. I stood outside of the store, trying to be a person who was seeing this through the outside-looking-in. _

"_I was shaking, quite a lot, actually, and watched as they brought out a body bag and a man on a stretcher. They first placed the body bag into the back of the ambulance, and gave CPR to the man on the stretcher. After man attempts of pushing on his chest and giving mouth-to-mouth CPR, they slowly—and almost mournfully—covered his body with a white sheet._

""_Miss, are you alright?" I heard from behind me. _

"_Turning around, I saw a man, probably my age, standing in front of me. "I'm fine, just a little shaken up." I watched as his eyes grew empathetic for me. He had beautiful hazel eyes, was clean-cut, tall, and a well physique. "Did you see everything?" I asked finally, a little ashamed of myself._

"_He nodded. "I heard gun shots and I stayed to see what would happen. I tried to go to a pay phone, but the nearest one is ten blocks from here." I wasn't sure if he was trying to apologize, or just explain himself._

"_I nodded, understandingly. "You don't have to explain yourself." Feeling stupid just standing in front of a stranger, I held out my hand and said, "Serena." I decided not to give my last name. _

"_The man took it invitingly. "Jack. Pleasure to meet you." He must have decided the same. _

"_I smiled politely, although I didn't really feel like curving my lips into an expression meaning happiness. We let our hands fall to our sides, and Jack said, "Want to get out of here? This must be torture for you."_

"_I gave him an odd look, my gut telling me that this was a bad idea, but my mind not really caring; I had just been in a shooting, didn't I deserve a break? "I… I think I'm just going to go to bed." I said, politely. _

"_Clutching my hand on the strap on my purse, I turned on my heel, and kept my head down. If the police wanted to question me about what happened, they could find me. I didn't want to talk right now._

""_Wait!" I head Jack call behind me. I didn't turn around, I just kept walking until I felt a hand on my shoulder, and lightly push me around. "Let me at least walk you home. You shouldn't be out here by yourself." _

"_I was almost offended by his notion, but I was in need of some sort of anchor. I felt a small smile creep onto my face as I said softly, "Okay." He smiled, and for reason, his smile was warm and comforting. _

"_After we walked for a few minutes, we found ourselves laughing and sharing stories. I know it's hard to believe that I was laughing after what had just happened, but I was still shaking. When we got to our door, I said, "This is my door. Thank you again, Jack."_

"_Jack smiled, a soft smile that framed his face nicely. "You're welcome. Serena, when it's appropriate," he sighed, and bit his lip, "I'd like to get together with you sometime."_

"_Something in my gut told me that I could trust Jack now. "Sure. I'd like that." I took out my pen out of my bag, and wrote my number on his hand. He smiled, and waved goodbye._

"_Some hell of a Christmas."_


	3. 3: Aftershock

_**A/N: Chapter three is here! Sorry if I left any of you in anticipation! Thank you for the lovely comments and reviews—I flip out when I read them! Hope you like… Do your thing and R&R **__****_

3—Aftershock

Elliot and Olivia looked at the journal, processing everything they had just read in Olivia's mother's journal. "Wow," she whispered, shocked.

When Elliot finally drew his eyes from the journal up to Olivia's face, Elliot noticed that her face was ghost-white. "You alright, Liv?" Elliot asked her, concerned and worried.

"My mother…" she said, shaking her head. She looked up to Elliot and continued, "…she never had a guy in her life. Not even after I was born. She may have beaten me and drank until she passed out, but she never brought some random guy over." She scrunched her eyebrows, trying to make sense of more things.

Elliot continued to stare at her, more intently and almost worried. This was a horrible idea, and Elliot was inwardly kicking himself for even letting her do this. But he knew Olivia well enough that if he tried to stop her, she would bite his head off and ignore him while she read it. As if to read his mind, Olivia spoke lightly, "Don't even think about it, El. I'm fine." She kept a certain firmness in her tone, though, as if to show her authority over her decision.

Elliot opened his mouth to retort, but Olivia's cell phone—that was resting right in the middle of them—rang, making both of them jump slightly. Olivia looked down at the caller I.D., which read in bold letters, "Cragen". With a swift movement of her hand, she answered her phone, and put it on speaker. "Benson," she said, professionally.

"Liv, is Elliot with you?" He sounded professional as well; another case, she assumed. Her stomach lurched at the thought of it, though—it was the weekend, she didn't want to work.

"Right here, Cap." Elliot said in his usual, business-like tone.

"Good. Guys, I know it's the weekend, but we've got a case. I think you guys might want in on this one." His voice was brisk, like it usually was when Cragen really got into something. Olivia and Elliot could almost see his smirk laid out on his face, his eyebrows scrunched causing his worry lines to be exaggerated on his forehead, and his withered, old, fingers rubbing up against his temples.

"What's the case?" Olivia asked, looking confused at the phone as if looking at Cragen himself.

"You guys will find out soon." Olivia scrunched her eyebrows; this was a weird statement coming from Cragen, mainly because whenever they asked him a case, he went into extreme detail about it. Olivia shrugged it off, taking his word that they would know soon enough. As she thought this, Cragen continued with, "Come to the precinct—Munch, Fin, and Casey are waiting." Click.

Olivia gave a quick, professional and pro-active look to Elliot, and stood up. "Let's go—this one sounds good." She went over to the coat rack near her door to grab her long, leather jacket. Slipping it on, she said, to the still-sitting Elliot, "Ready? You might want to stand, though—that's usually the first step." She joked, and lingered her hand on her doorknob.

"Uh, yeah," Elliot spoke, dumbfounded, as he stood up by using the weight of his knees. He was still trying to process everything Olivia had just read aloud to him, and to be honest, he was surprised at himself for being so shocked, but he was, and he really couldn't fight that feeling. He also had too much on his mind, with a new case and how Olivia would cope with everything she read in this book. Thinking all of this, Elliot walked over to the coat rack, and grabbed his own jacket.

They walked out of Olivia's apartment, they're walking in unison. They began to chat about little nothingness until Olivia widened her eyes and muttered, "Oh crap," Turning to Elliot, she said, "I'll be right back."

Olivia quickly ran up the flight of stairs they had just clambered down, and dug her keys out of her pocket. Futzing with the key and jiggling it in the knob, she swung open her door. Her eyes scanned her room momentarily until she found what she was looking for. Grabbing it quickly and locking the door behind her, she ran back down with Elliot. "What'd you forget?" He asked, a smug look on his face.

Olivia debated on whether or not to tell Elliot that she brought her mother's journal. She decided against it, knowing Elliot would trust her. "Nothing, just thought I left something."

She was right. He shrugged, and smiled at her, holding out an arm. Olivia returned his smile, and took his arm invitingly.

*****

"What'd we miss?" Elliot asked as he and Olivia walked into the squad room. They had their arms linked until they walk into the precinct, where the close contact between them changed drastically. But just for the looks.

Munch, Fin, and Casey all remained silent. They gave each other quick glances, as if debating on whether who should talk first. Casey, who was half-leaning, half-standing on a vacant desk, cleared her throat in her fist and stood up. She bore almost a sympathetic look as she walked up to Olivia. Before Casey could talk, the room was so quiet that anyone could hear a pin drop. "Olivia," Casey breathed, her green eyes darting from the floor to Olivia's eyes. "We… have a lead." She spoke warily, cautious, choosing her words carefully.

Olivia shot Casey a soft, discreet look of confusion. "What do you mean?"

Casey bit her lip—a trait that was picked up from Olivia. "Your mother's rape… we all know the case went cold… we found a lead."

Olivia couldn't do anything but stare at the team that stood in front of her. Her eyes then went to Elliot's, which its blueness and beauty told no lie—he honestly didn't know, either.

Olivia felt bittersweet, and she knew that they all did as well. Her feet were planted in front of the only people that she ever trusted; the only people she ever told _things_ to. Let her eyes linger on each pair that looked kindly at her own, she asked, her voice being almost inaudible, "…Well?" except she said it in a way that was consumed more by fear and anxiety then of pushiness and demand.

Casey let her eyes soften even more, figuring and placing each word in her head before she spoke it in a sentence. She finally said, "Jack Miyers."

It instantly clicked in Olivia's brain, and the group saw her face light up in recognition. She scanned Casey's eyes, knowing that there was some sort of catch, that it was too good to be true. "But…" Olivia whispered.

"He's on his death bed."


End file.
